


(Don't give me no lines, and) Keep your hands to yourself

by maiNuoire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, No idea how to link the inspiration thing, Not much really, Only A Little Plot, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a very important interview, so Derek has to keep his hands off. Stiles also has a lot of nervous energy, and a burning need to make Derek lose his mind.</p>
<p>P.S. I have no idea what I was thinking with the title, but it popped in my head and it made me giggle, and now I can't stop singing the damn song...</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Don't give me no lines, and) Keep your hands to yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/gifts), [PrettyInSoulPunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyInSoulPunk/gifts).



> Holy crap. In the month and a half that I've had things posted here, 5,000 people have read my work! Holy shit! You guys are amazing!
> 
> This is inspired by a gif and a not!fic on tumblr, which I will attempt to link here. (http://rk-writes-things.tumblr.com/post/136023104304/prettyinsoulpunk-rk-writes-things) Seriously, how tf do you make link show up here...?
> 
> Thank you so much to prettyinsoulpunk and pale-silver-comb for your input, I hope you like what I've done with it!

 

“Ah ah ah, Derek..keep your hands to yourself or I stop. Doing. This,” Stiles scolded cheekily, punctuating each of the last few words with teasing lick just under the head of Derek's cock. Derek released a frustrated groan, but its overall effect was lost as it turned breathy and pleasure filled when Stiles wrapped his plush lips back around Derek's shaft, sinking down to his close cropped curls and fluttering his tongue.

 

“Fuck, Stiles, _your mouth_ ,” Derek bit out, clenching his hands into fists to keep from threading them through Stiles’ impeccably styled hair. He had an interview in an hour, and _“It took me freaking forever to get it to behave, Derek.”_ Though, his chosen means of dealing with the nervous energy he seemed to perpetually have careening through his system and exacerbated by the potential job, namely, sinking to his knees (after very carefully arranging a pillow to avoid dirtying his freshly pressed pants) to suck Derek off like he needed Derek's cock in his mouth to _breathe,_ would seem to be counterproductive to keeping his hair un-mussed.

 

Which is why Stiles had given him strict instructions, while pumping Derek's cock intently, pausing periodically to swirl his tongue around Derek's crown. _“If you so much as brush a single strand out of place, I will leave you here. But first, I will suck you until you're seeing stars. I will suck you, and tease you, and roll your balls just how you like it. I'll take you nice and deep, and rub against your tight little hole. I'll get you so. Close, Der. So close to coming down my throat, like we both want you to. And then I'll stop, and I'll get up, and I will walk out the door, and I will go to my interview. So you will leave your hands at your sides. Understood?”_ And though ħe looked endearingly ridiculous, lips all red and swollen slightly from sucking Derek's cock, his tone was authoritative, even as he lapped at Derek's slit, gathering pre-come, eyes fluttering closed as he tasted his lover on his tongue.

 

So Derek used every ounce of his self control, and some he borrowed from god knows where, to keep his hands out of the silky dark stands, despite them being literally at his fingertips. He held back from grabbing and pulling, from anchoring his palm to the curve of Stiles’ head and using the contact as leverage to fuck into his perfect, smiling mouth and its tight, wet heat. He does not, however, restrain the deep, desperate noises, or the string of _“fuck, yes, baby, please. Oh god. More, yes, fuck, yes,”_ that spill past his slackened jaw as Stiles bobs steadily over his cock, his tongue mobile and smart even like this, flitting quickly in light strokes at his frenulum, then the whole broad expanse flattening to curl around the base, never still even as he uses just the right amount of suction as he moves up toward Derek's tip.

 

Stiles looks up at Derek as he places wet, open mouthed kisses to the crown of his dick; his pupils are blown wide, only a hint of molten honey visible around the edges. The pleasure and the heat and the _love_ Derek sees in those amber depths takes his breath away as surely as the finger that Stiles trails up the sensitive skin behind his balls and over the exposed length of him, finally settling along his dick as Stiles takes Derek's cock and his own finger back into the glorious warmth of his mouth, the suction getting sloppier as he works to get his finger slick.

 

When that finger finds its way to the furl of his hole, Derek whimpers and throws his head back, his hands going to his own hair and pulling, _hard_ , because that's not forbidden. Stiles hums a happy sound around him, eyes drawn to where Derek's hands are locked in his hair, it vibrates pleasurably up Derek's shaft, spreading out in warm waves through his belly and down his legs.

 

Stiles’ finger is pressed just inside him now, the slight pressure a tease and a promise. He pulls off of Derek with a loud pop, and in the silence broken only by Derek's panting breath, it sounds _obscene._ It makes them both groan into the nearly quiet air. “You want more, baby? You're doing so good keeping your hands to yourself,” Stiles purrs, fucking _purrs_ , at him. “I know you want to grab on and fuck my mouth, _mmm_ , I want it too,” he moans, stroking Derek’s spit-slick cock with sure, steady pulls, keeping him on edge, fingertip wiggling inside him, inching further as he begins to slowly fuck Derek with his beautiful, long finger, his palm a warm pressure on his balls.

 

“You're so hot and tight, Derek. So fucking good, babe. I'm going to make you come so hard, Derek. Come in my mouth, show me how good I make you feel,” Stiles babbles as he crooks his finger, unerringly finding Derek's prostate and rubbing it enthusiastically. He begins to move his head faster, suck harder, the suction and pressure steadily increasing, fucking Derek with his mouth. Derek whimpers, hands hovering over Stiles’ head for a moment before returning to his sides; he is _so close_ . Stiles’ finger is petting his prostate relentlessly, and his tongue is fucking _magical_ , and- there's an electronic beeping coming from somewhere close, it's clanging incongruous and unwelcome in the passion-thick air.

 

More unwelcome still, is the “Oh, shit,” Stiles groans out as he hastily moves away from Derek, taking his glorious warm mouth and exploring fingers with him. “Sorry, baby, I gotta run, that's my ‘leave now or you'll be late alarm’ so I gotta run,” Stiles places a quick kiss at the corner of Derek's mouth, despite his shocked moue. “I'm so sorry, Der. I'll make it up to you, promise. Raincheck!” And then he's backing away, smoothing his pants and grabbing his keys and phone.

 

Derek is incredulous, but he's still on edge so he reaches for his cock. Stiles growls, actually fucking _growls_ , at him, and Derek freezes despite his frustration. “You. Will keep. Your hands. Off of that beautiful hard on, Derek. It's mine.” Derek knows that tone, feels it through his entire body as a pleasurable shudder, a caress that promises raking nails to follow it. That tone means obey, and it makes his cock leap and _leak_ and his ass clench. Derek obeys, though a desperate whine rushes out of him, because he can feel his orgasm curling his toes, just waiting for an excuse to rush through him. He exhales a plaintive “ _Stiles_.”

 

Stiles’ voice softens, though his expression is still fire and heat, his desire demanding obedience. He's beautiful like this, in control, practically vibrating with want, but restrained; commanding. Even the huff of a whimper that whispers from between his lips, where his teeth clench at the bottom one in a blatant attempt to keep control, manages to be sexy instead of desperate; even though everything from his rigid posture to his scent is telegraphing that Stiles wants him just as badly, he maintains his control. “Fuck, baby, you were such a good boy, you deserve to come. Take your phone, go to our bed. Wait for me.” With that, Stiles is out the door, a “Later, babe, wish me luck!” tossed over his shoulder.

 

Derek is frozen for a moment, then he's moving toward their bedroom, collecting his phone and then settling in the middle of their bed comfortably. Or, as comfortable as he can be still hard as rock and mourning at the emptiness in his ass. He barely has time to begin to wonder if Stiles will make him wait until he returns home, the thought of being this close to coming for so long has his cock drooling and a drawn out moan rumbling from his chest. He wants to touch himself, to stroke his dick and find relief-it won't take more than a few, he's _so close_ \- but Stiles said not to, in that voice. _“Fuck.”_ And then his phone is ringing.

 

“Hello?” His voice is breathy and tight.

 

“Fuck, Der. You sound- _fuck,”_ Stiles groans and Derek's dick jumps at the sound. “You haven't touched yourself, have you?” Stiles makes a pleased hum at Derek's “No,” and an apologetic chuckle when he bites out “But I want to. I need to come so bad, Stiles. _Please._ ”

 

“You beg so pretty, baby. Are you in our bed? Yes? Good. Put me on speaker, and put the phone by your head.”

 

Derek loves this, Stiles giving him instructions; he still gets anxious about sex sometimes, unsure of himself, of how to use his body, his words. This, Stiles, makes him feel safe, confident, loved. “Put your hands on the headboard, Der. Hold on to it and take a nice, slow breath for me.” Derek does as he's told, places his hands against the smooth, cool wood of their headboard, a small shiver rolls down his spine as he exhales. He does not notice Stiles’ laptop, perched on the desk opposite his side of the bed, or the little blinking light that indicates the camera is on. He certainly isn't thinking about Stiles accessing said camera remotely, recording Derek as he submits so beautifully.

 

Not that he'd object; Stiles likes to watch him, and he likes that he turns Stiles on.

 

“Good job, baby. Are you still hard? Still slick from my mouth?” Derek isn't capable of much more than wrecked moans and a string of rough “ _Yes_ ”es as he takes a moment to acknowledge the damp remnants of Stiles' saliva on his shaft, the way the air cools it, not quite soothing on his hot flesh. Stiles continues. “When I get home, you should punish me for leaving you, Der. That was awful, I deserve a spanking, at least. Maybe you want to get me all worked up? Rim me until I'm a babbling mess, fuck me with that incredible tongue, mark my thighs with your stubble. You'll have to restrain me, you know I can't keep my hands still; maybe bind my wrists with this tie I'm wearing? The one you got me for my birthday?” Derek's dick is _throbbing_. He's a writhing mess on the bed, the thick comforter twisting around him, it was cool against his overheated skin, but now it feels almost unbearably warm. He whimpers.

 

“You make such lovely sounds for me, Derek. Do you like that idea? Keeping me on edge? Marking me? Wrapping this silk tie around my wrists? Or do you want to fuck my mouth? Wanna wreck my hair with your fingers wrapped around my head? Or maybe your thighs? Should I eat you out nice and slow, baby? Make love to your tight little hole, worship your perfect, round balls with my lips and my tongue? Make you come so hard you forget your name?”

 

Derek can't even think of his name _now_ , and Stiles is just _talking_. All he can manage is a sound that's meant to be Stiles’ name, but comes out a sob.

 

Stiles makes a soothing noise that tickles down Derek's body like a touch. “Shh baby, I've got you. You're doing so good. So good for me. You're going to be my hands now, Der, alright? So you're going to touch yourself like I would, ok? Keep your right hand where it is, I want you to run your left lightly through your hair and down your face, so your thumb rests on your lip. Feel that? That's my hand now, Derek.”

 

Derek is starting to panic a little, he needs Stiles with him, he's not sure if he can do this. Stiles, of course, says exactly what he needs to hear. “I love you like this, Derek. The way you feel, so warm and real beneath me. Your lip catching slightly on my thumb as I trace it, your soft, panted breath against my mouth add I lean in to taste you. I love trailing my hand down your throat, your stubble scraping my palm gently, your pulse under my fingers, _uhn_.” The small sound might as well be a hot tongue laving at his hole for all it makes it quiver and clench at nothing. Stiles whispers reverently “I love you so much, Derek Hale,” before he continues with his litany of praise, “You're so fucking perfect, baby. So good to me. And you taste like everything I've ever wanted. I love your little, pink-gold nipples, feel me teasing them now, baby? How I rub tiny little circles there? Are they hard for me?” Derek rubs lightly at his nipple, trying to keep the touch like Stiles' would be, purposeful, reverent, teasing; he lets his thumbnail scrape lightly over the perky nub and he hisses at he rough contact.

 

“Please, Stiles. _Please please please_ , I need you.” Derek is not ashamed of the neediness he hears in his voice, of the desperation; he's pretty sure if he doesn't come in the next ninety seconds his heart will actually stop. He can feel his pulse everywhere, a staccato beat thrumming through his blood. He's practically dripping with sweat, his heels pushed up against his ass, knees bent and splayed wide. He's arching off the bed seeking friction from the air, which feels heavy enough against his over stimulated body that it _should_ provide relief, but it of course doesn't. His head is thrown back, pressed so hard into Stiles' pillow he'd be looking at the place his hand is still pushing into the headboard if he could open his eyes. He's drawing heavy, panting breaths, seeking Stiles’ beloved scent, finding it easily and taking immediate and acute comfort in the springtime and spice smell of his mate. It calms him even as his cock aches and pulses, rock hard and close to his belly.

 

“You're such a good boy for me, Der. So beautiful. Let your knees fall away and show me your pretty little hole, baby. Let me see your perfect balls, drawn up tight for me, love. Take one finger baby, just one, and just tap against your hole for me. Tap it, and come. Come, Derek.” Not about to start disobeying now, Derek does as he's told and comes.

 

He comes so hard, he stops breathing. He comes _roaring_ , shouting Stiles’ name. Thick ropes of white streak his chest, decorate the headboard, and splatter his face. As he catches his breath, he laughs, deep and genuine and relieved. His hand is still on the headboard, he lets it fall limply beside his head, his shoulder aching slightly from the effort of keeping it in place.

 

Stiles murmurs sweetly, though Derek's too blissed out to make sense out of the words, the tone is thick with affection and approval and it's a balm to his frazzled nerves. He does pick out “I love you,” and “-did so good,” and that's enough.

 

“I'm here now, baby. I'll be home as soon as it's over, ok. I love you.”

 

Derek makes a small noise of agreement and mumbles something that roughly resembles “Love you, too.” Stiles chuckles fondly and adds “Wrap yourself up before you fall asleep, babe. You'll get cold.” Derek flops gracelessly over and pulls the blanket with him, managing to say “Good luck, Stiles. They'll love you,” before slapping aimlessly at his phone to hang up and fall into a peaceful, post-orgasm nap.

 

Across town, Stiles arrives at his interview and opens his laptop's camera feed, rewinding to just before they hung up. He sees Derek, glistening slightly with sweat, long neck arched beautifully back,  one arm bracketing his head, the other resting on his thigh, which is still splayed wide. His softening but no less impressive cock is nestled near the crease of his groin, his hole slightly swollen and just visible thanks to the cant of his hips and the height of the desk the computer rests on. He praises all of the deities he knows, and a few he made up, that the task of driving kept him just the right amount of distracted from the _fucking incredible_ sounds Derek was making, and from his own erotic imaginings, because he almost came before Derek did, and sitting for an interview for his dream job while sitting in his own jizz? Not ideal.

 

But he has a video. And a very sincere apology to make when he gets home. And if he's really lucky, a boyfriend who wants a little revenge.

  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at tumblr.com/blog/rk-writes-things


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